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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541705">I Don't Like Mondays</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngieW/pseuds/AngieW'>AngieW</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Starrison One-Shots and Stories [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>... This is a spur of the moment thing but I hope you like it, Also mclennon is small like its just the ending, At least i loved writing this lol, But he cares way too much, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, George's drunk and Paul's being an impatient fabulous dick, Hamburg Era, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I guess you can see it that way a bit too, I swear it is, Lets be a serious a second, M/M, Ringo s a softie, Sleepy Cuddles, Starrison seen through Paul's point of view in Hamburg Days, this is really stupid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:22:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngieW/pseuds/AngieW</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1961, they're in Hamburg drinking pints late at night, and George's drunk. Like, really drunk. And seriously, Paul finds the scene very pitiful: George's nursing a beer as he complains and whines, grumpy — more than usual. A depressing sight, really. But George simply refuses to tell him what's wrong, and his patience is running thin.</p><p>If only there was Ringo to take his place, so he wouldn't have to take care of George once again!</p><p>... now that he's thinking about it, where's Ringo? Why isn't he here to take care of that?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison &amp; Paul McCartney, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Starrison One-Shots and Stories [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Don't Like Mondays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a spur of the moment thing and a really impulsive stupid decision to post that now idk what I'm doing<br/>Plus its dumb cause im updating a chapter tmr so like, I could have posted this later.<br/>But theres just been so much starrison on ao3 lately... like really SO MUCH ! I've been so tempted to join that sudden starrison movement for the past weeks...<br/>So I cracked and here we go with tHiS thing.<br/>It's dumb as fuck.</p><p>On a more serious note: this is set in "A Gardener's Birthday" universe but you can understand the story without reading it (just know George and Ringo are already together). </p><p>I hope you will enjoy it, and please let me know if you did ! It'll make me day 💙<br/>Anyway enough talking more reading:</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> 1961 </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t like Mondays.”</p><p> </p><p>George huffed that out as he was slumped, half drunk next to Paul in a hidden booth of the Top Ten club. It was another murky and shitty night, where they were high on pills and buzzing with tired adrenaline; except for George. No, the lead guitarist of their band wasn’t; his face was laying flat on the table, chest resting on it, while one hand was holding on a last pint — because Paul didn’t want to drag him dead and puking to their room afterwards. But it was a weird kind of drunk George he was seeing right now: usually, the man was boasting around and taking on the most ridiculous and dangerous challenges against John — or anyone else for that matter. He'd yell in broken German at a random lad and that was it. It was funny to witness, except when it turned to a fight. And he talked so much too; around the fifth glass, it was impossible to stop him. As if he was finally unleashing all the words he wanted to say during the day but kept being interrupted by either him or John. Truly, it was always nice to see, a drunk George; it was entertaining until he got into a fight while John was either joining or cheering him on. Because afterwards, who had to fix it all up by being the PR Man to the owner of the club and the guy who got his face all wound up? Of course it was Paul of fucking course it was.</p><p> </p><p>However, this drunk George was different. He wasn’t boasting, being like <em>“look at me, I’m the best guitarist in the world and none of you care which is rude so I’m just gonna ramble for hours so you'll regret taking me to Hamburg.”</em> Oh no. The worst was that Paul was beginning to miss that George. His brother had become what appeared to be a “depressive drunk boy”. There were no challenges; no praises to himself, no <em>“show me a lil respect Paul instead of being a self-centered prick al’ the time”</em> — which was not true, Paul would like to add. On the contrary, there were mostly complaints, groans, and “I hate tonight”. For no reasons. Paul had tried to recall the night, but frankly there was nothing special. They had played twice, greatly and flawlessly, sending the crowds wild with their screams and shouts. Stuart had played like shit — but was that a surprise? Paul would say no it wasn’t — Pete had done his job and nothing more. Paul himself, and he was quite proud to say, had sung magically tonight; he thought so because John kept gazing at him with heart eyes during every ballad and that was frankly quite telling. John… well, his boyfriend had fallen unconscious in the middle of a song during the second set — and basically scared the shit out of him. But when they heard him snoring through the mic he had crushed in his fall, they — Paul — all sighed in relief. Which was why John wasn’t present with him at this moment, and had been hauled to bed by Pete. And George… he had played fine. As always. He was as excited as them all, as if this was just another day; he laughed his ass off when he heard John snore, so he didn’t seem unhappy. It was only when they left the stage to grab their drinks that his smile turned down and his hair fell to hide his disappointed eyes. What had triggered it, was a complete mystery.</p><p> </p><p>Paul didn’t like being in the dark, when he didn't know something. He liked when he knew everything of his bandmates’ whereabouts and problems, so he could organize everything in his head through all the mess and alcohol spilling and pills and debauchery of Hamburg. So seeing who he considered to be his younger brother completely depressed, and not knowing why, was greatly frustrating to him.</p><p> </p><p>He thought he could investigate a bit. So he answered, casually sipping his drink.</p><p> </p><p>“And why is that George?”</p><p> </p><p>The man’s shoulders slumped even further forward. At this point he could simply lay down on the table; it wouldn’t be so different.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know… Mondays are shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps, but usually you don’t get so down about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well I wan’ be down about it tonight so I do whut I want Paul,” he harshly cut, making Paul fake a gasp. Oh, as if he wasn’t used to being turned down in similar ways by John whenever his boyfriend ended up being beaten in a fight and refused to explain why. George wasn’t intimidating him at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright then sulk. But I think it’s stupid to sulk for no reasons, you know?” Paul thought perhaps he could try to goad his friend a bit; try to shake him off from this depressed cloud. “And you’re not stupid yet, are you George?”</p><p> </p><p>At that George ticked, and his face instantly pivoted to the side, glaring at Paul.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not stupid Paul I do hav' reason you-”</p><p> </p><p>“Good then tell me.”</p><p> </p><p>But the guitarist didn’t. His glare disappeared instantly, and he turned his head away again. Ugh, this was so god damn frustrating. Paul gulped down the rest of his drink, before slapping his drink down and sighing.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright then I’ll try to guess if you’re not going to help.”</p><p> </p><p>George pivoted once again. Curious eyes looked at him, as he started to suggest different reasons.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it because of the pint? Was it disgusting?” George shook no, frowning. “Then was it because of the day? Did something bother ya today?” Again, no.“Is it because of tonight’s show?”</p><p> </p><p>Ah! This time, a different reaction: a half-assed shrug. Well, that was a small progress, but small progress is still progress, so Paul took that direction.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t like how you played or how we played?” A firmer shake. Good to know he had liked the show at least. Thinking of something else, he dared to think he was the problem:</p><p> </p><p>“Is it because of me??” Oof, another no. That wasn’t shocking; please, Paul was literally holding all that drunk band together it could never be his fault. However, he knew someone who had the habit of teasing people a bit too far… “Is it because of John? What did he do again?”</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, it wasn’t. Paul was beginning to run empty on propositions. Who could be the problem? “Is it Pete or-”</p><p> </p><p>Oh! George’s eyebrows had risen! That meant he had hit it right! A quick look through the day, trying to find the reasons as to what the fuck had done Pete to his younger brother he swore if that dick had hurt him he would-</p><p> </p><p>“’S not Pete, Pete.”</p><p> </p><p>George had interrupted him in his inside seething threat. He should have been glad George was opening up to him; but fuck George speak English what could Paul hope to fix with that weird information?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry what?”</p><p> </p><p>With great effort — and a loud groan — George heaved a sigh and slightly lifted himself up; instead of lying on the table, his chin rested on his hand while the other still weakly held on the pint.</p><p> </p><p>“I sai’ ‘s not about Pete,” he growled — wow really George, showing him the fangs? He was more plastered than he thought. “It’s about a drummer.”</p><p> </p><p>… A drummer. Sure. Just give Paul a minute to go through all his notepad with every drummer of Hamburg he knew until he fell on the right one with sheer luck and that was rubbish George what the fuck was he-</p><p> </p><p>And then suddenly he remembered there was only one other drummer that George would be thinking about now. What an idiot. Of course he would be thinking of him, and Paul smiled at his obliviousness; he was perhaps a bit more drunk than he had realized.</p><p> </p><p>“So this is about Ringo then?” He said this with carefulness, almost whispering as he leant forward and stroked his friend’s shoulder. George nodded, seeming as if the light of his world was gone.</p><p> </p><p>“He promised he’d come tonight even tho he don’t play on Mondays, and I was lookin’ forward to it. But then he wasn’t here and I-” he started babbling, his pint dangerously swinging around as he got more worked up about it. “‘N’ I know it’s rubbish but I’m so tired an’ everythin’ ‘s been so draining lately and — I mean John fuckin’ collapsed tonight if tha’s not fuckin’ tellin — and I was like “well at least, if he’s here tonight ’s all worth it”. But he wasn’t an-”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey hey, calm down George, just breathe a bit here,” he quickly interrupted when he witnessed his friend getting paler by the second. As much as he rubbed his back and whispered quiet and long “shhhh” to get him to relax, it was unstoppable: George’s anxiety and sadness had been underestimated, and Paul was regretting it; he didn’t know his friend was that bad. What a terrible brother he was.</p><p> </p><p>He took him outside and let him throw up against the wall. During all this, he stayed next to him and kept the movement on his back going. No matter the disgusting sounds or the stench, he stayed. He wasn’t going to leave until he somehow found the solution to this problem.</p><p> </p><p>When George was finished, rubbing his sleeve on his mouth, he croaked out in a small voice — and the sound broke his heart:</p><p> </p><p>“‘s just that I wanted to see him…”</p><p> </p><p>Paul made a decision then. Nothing would stop him. Them.</p><p> </p><p>“And you will.”</p><p> </p><p>George’s eyes widened; Paul’s did too, but only for a split second before he looked at him with a determined glow.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m taking you to him.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know how the idea got to him.The only thing he knew was that right afterwards, he found himself carrying an half-asleep George on his back, to where Ringo and his band resided. On the way, to assure that George would remain awake till they arrived, he asked him to list what he liked in his boyfriend. Feeling George’s jawn move on top of his head and his arms around his neck, he listened to him happily and drowsily ramble about his love. How beautiful his eyes were; how nice he was with him; how generous he was; how he always listened to him and helped him out and he seemed to simply guess whatever he needed. Young love — it was 1961 and they hadn’t been a couple for long. It was about what, two months? Since Ringo had asked him out, on his birthday with a sunflower. No, it was a month ago. Such a short time, of course Ringo would still seem perfect. Because, if Paul was honest with you, he wasn’t thinking John was perfect anymore; oh no, he had stopped thinking that a long time ago — aka a week after they started their weird relationship. But, well, it was his John: he wasn’t going to complain.</p><p> </p><p>They arrived at the place where Ringo normally stayed. Paul had no idea if the drummer would actually be there; if he wasn’t here tonight, he probably would have a good reason, but that didn’t mean he stayed home. However, he had a distant impression that he was there. He felt George’s arms tighten around his neck; he was unsure too. Inhaling sharply, Paul pushed the doors open.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, they fell on one of Ringo’s bandmates. Asking him if Ringo was here, Paul was relieved — and George excited — to know he was here, in his bed. Not having enough time to inquire, for George was kicking his sides in impatience, they ran to the dorm room, Paul still carrying George, exhausted. And the moment of truth came; they were approaching their destination. They saw a form reading comics on a mattress from afar. Paul ran faster. George was more reckless. The figure perked up, footsteps approaching; he turned to gaze their way; blue eyes. They braked abruptly in front of it: here was Ringo, in pajamas, smiling at them with a running nose and red cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>Before he had the time to say anything, George had yelled from above Paul’s head, suddenly strengthening and crossing his arms and fuck Paul was thanking George’s mom for making me so skinny.</p><p> </p><p>“Where were you Ringo! Why weren’t ya her’?”</p><p> </p><p>The drummer glanced at Paul before answering. With an amused expression, he was silently asking if George was drunk; Paul nodded that, unfortunately, yes. Careful, he answered with honesty.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, but I was too sick to come to see you, love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>By the small “oh” Paul heard, he knew his friend was taken aback and self-conscious. Helping the couple along, he lowered George further. His younger mate, who stumbled a bit as he tried to get his footing, didn’t know how to react behind his clear embarrassment. It seemed he was torn on what to say and what to do. So, Paul pushed things along; he shoved his flatmate to the bed, Ringo quickly catching the dizzy form in his arms. The moment George hit his chest, he squirmed to make himself comfy, not having any shame, and not being slightly angry by Paul’s action. George was now lying on his side, half of his body on Ringo as he was hugging him, and nuzzling his neck. His voice came out muffled, but loud.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you could hav’ warn'd me. But ‘m glad to see yu Richie,”both him and Ringo were gazing at him, amusement to the guitarist’s behavior clear in their eyes, but a mutual affection for the drunk man. “I missed ya Ringo.”</p><p> </p><p>Ringo chuckled, but Paul could see his cheeks had turned crimson; this time it wasn’t because of the fever. Gently, he lowered his lips to George’s forehead. He kissed him, softly holding his body close to him.</p><p> </p><p>“And I missed you too.”</p><p> </p><p>However, there was no answer. As they waited a minute, they both frowned, glancing at each other, worried; was there something wrong? Paul stepped forward, ready to assist him.</p><p> </p><p>A snore. A huge snore. Only one, however. Afterwards, muffled words and more nuzzling, and George’s body relaxed, dozing. Finally sleeping in his lover’s arms. They chuckled once again, but they were both relieved.</p><p> </p><p>When Ringo was done gazing lovingly at George’s sleeping face, he turned to Paul.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for bringing him here. I was honest earlier; I really wanted to see him too.”</p><p> </p><p>The gratitude pouring out of the words was so sincere, emotions seeping in each of them. It made him grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, it’s nothing. He was being a daft idiot about it. I had to.”</p><p> </p><p>They chuckled again. As Ringo ran his hand through his boyfriend’s hair, Paul realized his job here was done. He had no reason to remain there further. No reason to intrude further on the intimate scene. Let lovers rest. It was time to go. After all, he had fixed this again. Mission accomplished.</p><p> </p><p>He whirled around, ready to step away, but was halted when he heard Ringo call out for him.</p><p> </p><p>“You can stay if you want. It’s late so-”</p><p> </p><p>But Paul interfered before he finished, a polite smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no it’s ok,” and he knew why, because the scene he had witnessed made him long for someone that he desperately needed to see. “I’ve got someone to see too.”</p><p> </p><p>John.</p><p> </p><p>Ringo nodded, understanding. With a wave, Paul departed.</p><p> </p><p>When he came to their residency that night, he saw John, awake, but weakly so. His eyes were almost shut, and he was barely sitting up. As he caught sight of him, he rushed to his side, lowering him gently to the bed. John didn’t protest, but he held onto his arms tightly. Half-lidded eyes were staring at him, as he was cursing with concern over him, rushing to check on him.</p><p> </p><p>“And why aren’t you sleeping now? You’re exhausted John I told you to-”</p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to see you before.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul froze. So, everyone wanted to see their lovers tonight, huh? he chuckled, looking at his lover’s beatific drowsy smile. Undressing of his shirt, he quickly took him in his arms and laid down next to him. As he dragged the covers around their frames, he quietly ordered.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, I’m here, so sleep, ok? You’ll see me even more when you wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>John weakly nodded. And soon, he was asleep.</p><p> </p><p>There was only Paul awake now.</p><p> </p><p>He hoped George and Ringo were asleep and resting too. They all knew how much they needed it. He hoped his lover would rest too, he desperately needed it too. He had made sure his friends were all safe and taken care of now. It was another successful day, he supposed. But should it really end now? Lingering music notes and chords slowly crept to his head. Maybe could he compose a bit? He could already see the music being formed and the lyrics coming to his head and-</p><p> </p><p>“Paul stop thinkin' so loudly and sleep too,” his boyfriend groaned loudly, slamming his hand to his chest, but missing as he was almost sleeping and landing on his face. Paul could only snort at the action. Gracefully, he took his hand away and moved to nuzzle his lover’s chest. An aquiline nose nuzzled in his hair and he heard a content sigh reach his hair.</p><p> </p><p>Oh well. He might as well sleep too.</p><p>----------------</p><p>The End</p><p>(2900 words)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>... I told you it was stupid. </p><p>Anyway if you read it this far, I hope you did enjoy it !!! I hope you liked our dear drunk yearning George and caring — bitchy — Paul lol. Think of leaving a comment and a kudos if you liked it, let me know what you liked!</p><p>And for the people reading my long fic "We're Open Tonight!", I'll see you all again tomorrow lol</p><p>Have a nice day/night, and take care 💙</p></blockquote></div></div>
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